


...And Nothing Else Matters

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Boys Kissing, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sentimental Jensen, Unintentional coming out, Unspecified Timeline, end of supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 23:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12736908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: As the curtain closes on an era, the closet door is opened unexpectedly.It doesn't feel at all like he expected.





	...And Nothing Else Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! 
> 
> This was written for a challenge, tied to the Salute to Supernatural - Hawaii (!!) where as of this posting, so many of my friends are getting ready to have THE BEST TIME EVER. Y'all, please take many, many pictures, and share with the class.
> 
> Meanwhile, I'm not there, but I wrote this thingy for the "Out" challenge in honor of the first-ever US-based Cockles panel. I tried to make it clear in the tags, but just in case it's gonna make you misty-eyed, this does take place at an unspecified date during the filming of the Supernatural SERIES FINALE. I put in a couple of context clues to try to make it clear that I think this is still some years in the future but... Sorry in advance for any unintentional feels on that front.
> 
> Title and overall feel of the story loosely inspired by Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters." 
> 
> Enjoy!

_ We’re out _ .

Two words, so simple and vague on their face, they could’ve fit into a variety of contexts.  _ We’re out of milk. We’re out for the night. We’re out of the playoffs _ .

But this was a group text, from the sender to three other participants, and standing on its own, it could mean only one thing.

Jensen Ackles wiped his palm over his mouth and sighed, phone still poised in his right hand. He glanced back over his shoulder at the bed he now sat on the edge of; his partner’s broad bare shoulders and back were facing him as the other man snored softly.

They’d talked about this moment a lot over the years - whether they should do it voluntarily; what it would feel like if it caught then unawares; whether anyone would actually give a damn. Jensen always figured it would mean the end of his career, and he’d walk around the rest of his life with wide eyes and a constant sense of dread that he was going to be the target of homophobic hate.

But this… this moment, this was peaceful, and it settled on him not with spine-tingling terror, but as a weighted blanket, holding him there on the edge of his bed in Vancouver, naked, feet planted firmly on the floor, forearms braced on his thighs, his phone cradled in his hands near his knees.

_ What happened? _

As he waited on a reply to his message, he lifted his face and took in his surroundings.

His Vancouver apartment - his second home for over a decade - now bore the telltale signs that he was spending his final days within its walls. Bare, dusty shelves and scattered boxes met his eyes.

It was the end of an era and, he supposed, this particular piece of news fit right into all of that. Maybe, if it was going to happen at all, this was the perfect time.

There was a masculine groan behind him, a sound that brought a smile to Jensen’s face because he knew from years of shared mornings that this was the sound of his lover showing signs of life after a good night’s rest. Then the bedclothes rustled, strong arms folded around his middle, and soft, warm lips pressed slow kisses against the small of his back.

Jensen closed his eyes. Sighed. Turned his head so he could look back over his shoulder at brunette bedhead.

It had been over a month since they’d last dyed it; Jensen could already make out the grey roots showing through.

It made his smile stretch bigger to know that it didn’t matter anymore, and he looked forward to seeing what this man looked like without the fuss and interference of an eagle-eyed hair and makeup team.

“Good morning.”

“Mmmmm… fffff.” Misha returned to kissing his back, and Jensen laughed softly, eyes flitting only briefly to the clock. It was pushing 11:00; they’d both been on set late last night, and Jensen’s call time was in just a couple of hours, but he was in no rush.

It’s not like anyone on set was going to pretend this news wasn’t something they’d known for years.

“We got a text from DeeDee.” He kept his tone easy, flowing, but the smile faded as he turned his body and Misha lifted his face and sat up slightly. He made to reach for his phone, but Jensen shook his head and flashed his own screen up for both of them to read.

_ Fan snapped this pic of you two last night. Speculation is equal parts “cheating” and “but Misha’s poly” so it’d be fantastic if you’d just let the cat out already. _

The attached picture was slightly out of focus, but it was definitely Jensen and Misha in profile, just outside the restaurant where they’d eaten dinner last night, fingers knitted together on both sides of their bodies, foreheads pressed together, faces unmistakeable in the exact nature of the affection they had for one another.

The silence was broken by Misha’s laughter - full, genuine, and accompanied by a clapping of his hands as he sat up and kissed into Jensen’s neck.

Jensen couldn’t help but give a smile and a soft laugh in return. “What? What’s so funny?”

“It’s just,” kiss, “of all the ways I thought this would happen,” another kiss, this one to his jawline, “the idea that it would happen completely by accident, literally in our final days of working together… never even entered my mind. This is perfect. This is… it almost seems like we did it on purpose.” He lost himself in a fit of giggles and collapsed flat on his back across the middle of the bed.

Misha’s laughter was contagious, and Jensen joined him in it, sitting propped above his partner for a few beats before lowering himself down to cover Misha’s body with his own.

What followed might be called “celebration sex”, or it might be called “exuberance”, or maybe it was just that they were absolutely giddy for the ending of an era in the closet and the beginning of something else.

Love.

It was love.

After, they settled upside down on the bed for no reason at all, naked and holding each other above the covers.

“When’s your call?”

“One. But fuck it, Clif and Jared can come haul my naked ass out of here. I ain’t getting up.”

“I’m surprised we haven’t heard from Jared, actually.” Misha nosed against Jensen’s chin affectionately. “Or PR. Or… Vicki.”

Jensen barked a laugh at that. “You know your wife is probably at home, curled up on the couch, drinking a whole lot of literal and figurative tea. She’s been expecting this for years.”

“She’s so smart. I love her.” Misha sounded a bit drunk on endorphins, and it made Jensen want to go for another round, but as they kissed languidly, he realized his body wasn’t going to let him have that. Neither his nor Misha’s refractory period was any longer what it was when this was new. Instead they would make due with long touches and deep, soft kisses; with gentle caresses and conversation about their final days here, and the memories that came with this place and this city and this bed, until they were interrupted by the shrill ring of Misha’s phone on a nighstand out of reach.

“Good morning, Lovely,” Jensen greeted the caller. “Yes. Yes we did. Hold-- hold on.” He pulled back and hit the button to put Vicki on speaker phone.

“The funny thing about it is, I never dreamed they’d catch you in a romantic moment. Always assumed it would be a drunken game of grab-ass in a hotel somewhere.”

“But you knew it’d be us.”

“Of course I did. Dmitri, you’re about as subtle as a rainbow-colored elephant. And as for Jensen--”

“Hey! I know how to be discreet!”

“Says the man who showed Misha his underwear on the stage in Rome. Honestly, when  _ that  _ didn’t out you, I started to wonder if maybe your fans would never catch on.”

Misha snorted a laugh. “They’ve been on to us for years. This isn’t an out so much as a confirmation. And what a time for it, too.”

“Ratings for your finale are going to be through the roof.”

“Some will say that’s why we did it,” Jensen lamented. “For the ratings.”

“Yeah, well, fuck ‘em. Haters gon’ hate.”

“Misha?”

“Yeeeees?”

“Never, uh…” Vicki paused for effect before giving a brief chuckle and finishing, “Never say that again.”

“We love you.”

“We love you!” Jensen echoed, going on impulse to tickle at Misha’s ribs.

“Love you both. Hey! Bring some of that fun home tonight. Come home tonight,” she added more definitively. “Both of you. Please.”

“You got it, babe. I…” Jensen’s phone was ringing, now - unmistakably the ringtone Clif had once assigned himself on Jensen’s phone. He glanced at the clock. “Shit. I gotta go.”

He was vaguely aware of Misha saying a proper goodbye to his wife as he threw on boxers and sweatpants just as someone pounded on the apartment’s front door.

“Coming!”

There was a snort and a laugh and then Jared’s voice hollered, “Yeah, I’ll bet!”

Jensen let him in while Misha was still dressed only in a pair of orange boxer briefs, his hair unmistakably ruffled by more than just a good night’s sleep.

“Three more days. Y’all couldn’t have lasted  _ three more days _ .”

“Nope.” Jensen shook his head and glanced back at Misha, who shrugged.

“We’re late.”

“Well, like you said, only three days left. Hate to break tradition now.”

“Jensen, heads up.” He turned and caught the hoodie Misha had thrown at him, shrugging into it before reading the front. When he did, he smiled down at it, and ran a reverent hand over the faded  _ Family Always Has Your Back _ emblem. “In case you need the armor today.”

Jensen nodded and walked back to where Misha still stood, barely dressed, disheveled, and leaning against the doorframe. He mirrored the pose from the photo that had outed them: In profile, fingers linked on either side of their bodies, standing too close, foreheads pressed together. And then he kissed Misha’s lips and said softly, “You could always come to set anyway. Hang out in my trailer. Relive some of our greatest hits.”

Misha shook his head and returned the chaste kiss. “I’ve already said my goodbyes. Besides. Someone needs to handle the press and snark on social media in our defense.”

“Just…” Jensen rolled his eyes and squeezed both of Misha’s hands. “Promise me you’ll talk to PR first. Don’t-- don’t do anything--”

“Jensen.”

He stopped.

“I. Love. You.” When their lips met again, it was with history and purpose, an affirmation that centered Jensen back in how he’d first felt when he’d woken up to his wife’s text that morning.

“I love you, too.”

“You two are disgusting.”

“Shut up, Jared.”

“Misha and Jensen, sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I--”

Jared was cut off abruptly as Jensen turned and ran at him full-force, hurling both of them out the door to where Clif’s car waited outside. They slid in and buckled up and as Jensen settled into the overly familiar drive to work, he let himself get lost in his own thoughts.

He wasn’t sure this day would ever come, but when he’d wondered what it might be like if it ever did, he always assumed it would be some kind of soul-crushing awfulness. He’d imagined chaos and gut-wrenching revelations and tense moments and a lot of stress; he’d imagined embarrassing confessions and, eventually, a loss of status and fame. He’d imagined a rejection by some of his fans.

He never dreamed he’d feel free.

 


End file.
